


Finding Home

by farfetched



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cats, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Holidays, Pets, adopting a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: Kent knows he's going to be alone for Christmas - again. The thing is, he hadn't quite counted on Swoops.





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spocks-butt (trace_de_pas)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trace_de_pas/gifts).



“Hey.” Kent says, just loud enough. Swoops gives him a sideways look through his visor; they’re waiting for someone holding up the gate to the rink. Probably the rookie forgot to tie his laces.

“Hmm?” He keeps his eyes on Kent. There’s some movement in front of them, but not enough. Laughter and a loud thump. Maybe someone fell over. Kent watches it unfold without really seeing.

“What you doing? Y’know, over break. Christmas or whatever,” he mumbles, again, only loud enough for Swoops to hear. Swoops shrugs, his whole torso bobbing with the motion. Kent pretends he’s not invested in the outcome of the question. Keep it light, keep it airy. No one needs to know, no one cares.

“Dunno. Maybe see the fam, but I saw ‘em at Thanksgivin’, so it’s not urgent.” Swoops says offhandedly, then grimaces in memory. “Sister’s boyfriend’ll be there this time though. Maybe I’ll skip.”

Kent laughs – he’s heard the stories. Said boyfriend is a corporate type, and is essentially the exact stereotype of one, as far as Kent can determine. Swoops is not fond of him and has been complaining ever since his sister started going out with him a year and a half ago. It’s become enough of a point that if he mentions it while they’re out, he has to take a shot. It never shuts him up, though.

"What'd you do instead?" Kent asks, because he is, perhaps, incapable of just straight up asking questions. Whenever he does, it seems to backfire on him, so he's gotten into a bad habit of just not asking. Can't fall out over nothing, right? Won't make any friends over nothing either, but then, friends never quite worked out for him either, so he's not sure that's so much of an issue. 

Swoops shrugs again. He does that a lot. He also spins his hockey stick in his hands, and grabs it again. Spin, grab. Spin, grab. Kent isn't certain about the meaning of this, if there even is one. Perhaps aggravation, but they've barely been speaking a minute. 

"Laze at home? Sleep or somethin'. Ain't much else to do, really," Swoops says. The words carve into a little pit in Kent's heart, wishing to be filled with something. Something other than ringtones and empty text messages. Something other than silence. 

"Do you--" he starts, but the hold-up seems to clear, and the path before them is free. Almost as if fate is giving him a way out. Almost as if fate is telling him 'don't bother'. "Nah, don't worry 'bout it." 

He clomps forward and skates away; Swoops says nothing. Doesn't ask him later. 

Kent feels that pit turn, as it usually does this time of year, to something far more empty.

* * *

He subtly asks (or just quizzes, really) the rest of the team on their plans; they all have relatives to go to, or a family to spend it with. Every thought of someone else's happy holidays fills him with an empty kind of hollowness that feels so tangible; as though each time he closes his mouth he chews on it, a mangled piece of shit that is his life. Sure, he's a hockey star, but he's nothing without that. He has nightmares about injuries, because he doesn't have anything else but hockey to throw himself into. 

Christmas inches closer with each game, each hit on the ice, each goal scored. All these fans will have somewhere to go. Someone to wish them a good Christmas, or any of the other relevant winter holidays that all seem to focus on togetherness and family. 

The pit carves itself deeper, almost a physical ache. He really doesn’t like this time of year, just wants to move onto the new year and get past it.

All too soon they break for the holidays. He's got enough things to cook on Christmas Day – he's got time to burn, he might as well try – although he didn't bother getting a Christmas tree. There didn't feel much point. There is a bag of Christmas cards from fans by the fireplace, some with presents, some just cards, and he can’t say he’s too excited about the prospect of opening them. There are some from extended family. He’ll see his mother a few days after the holiday: she devotes herself to helping other people at this time of year, and chains herself to a soup kitchen counter.

He’d go help, but he’s not that altruistic. He did one year, and he couldn’t stand sharing her, so he’s bailed every year since, even though it leaves him here – alone.

Collapsing backwards onto the sofa, he stares at the ceiling, wondering what he ought to do. Perhaps he should queue a load of movies on Netflix and beers in the fridge. He doesn’t mind cooking, but having so much food for one emphasises the emptiness of his apartment, particularly when he gets echoes of holiday cheer from the neighbouring apartments. He’ll put music on loud and sing obnoxiously badly to it and eat maybe a tenth of what he’s cooked and end up throwing most of the rest away.

Kent grimaces. Sounds _fantastic_.

But hey, that’s the lot he’s left himself with. Or been left with. The one person he really wants to phone him won’t, the streets will be deserted if he goes out tomorrow, and the rink will be closed. He can’t even practice. Maybe he could go on a run.

Drawn out of his musings by the shrill doorbell, he glances over at the intercom, as though it might shed some light on whoever this is. If it’s another load of carol singers, he might go mad, but still, it’s more interesting than just laying here, so--

He gets up and answers it. Why not, right? Buzzes them in – they might not even be here for him, might have just pressed all the keys to get someone to let them in – and waits for a moment.

A knock at his door. Unenthusiastically, he swings it open.

“Yo,” Swoops says, while Kent blinks at him. “Figured you weren’t doin’ nothin’ with yourself. Since I wasn’t either, might as well go somewhere,” he explains, but there is this slight bemused lilt to his voice. Kent doesn’t especially care, particularly when Swoops holds up a six pack of beer in each hand.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s cool,” he replies, and nods to invite him in; Swoops, however, just places the beer to the side and returns to the door. Kent thinks perhaps he’s misunderstood something.

“C’mon. We got places to be,” Swoops insists, folding his arms across each other. As though Kent ought to have already realised.  
“We do?” Considering up until thirty seconds ago his next solid appointment was a training session on the 27th, he has no idea what Swoops means. But Swoops seems adamant, so Kent scrambles to grab his keys and his wallet and follows his teammate out the door.

* * *

Half an hour later finds them in Swoops’ car, cruising to-- somewhere. Kent’s not actually sure. Swoops has been characteristically tight-lipped about their destination, making Kent feel a certain type of nervous. He hasn’t worked out about Jack, has he? Jack’s not here, is he? He’s not ready for that, he needs – hell, he needs a whole week of mental room for that – and by the time they pull into the parking lot, he’s wound himself into something of a panic, brain refusing to let the thought go no matter how unrealistic. Jack would never agree to see him anyway, he knows that.

When they stop, however, it forces his thoughts back into the exterior world, and he glances around. It’s not the airport, nor anywhere he recognises; the sign above the door tells him that it’s ‘Teller’s Animal Shelter’ along with the contact information, and Kent is-- confused. He glances at Swoops.

Swoops is watching him, bemused smile on his face.  
“What?” Kent asks – it just seems kind of out of character, from what information he has – but Swoops merely snorts.  
“I thought you mentioned wanting a cat?” he murmurs, as though this had not been some throwaway comment a drunken Kent had made probably two months ago. He’d not had the time to go get one – kinda thought he’d be shit at keeping a pet, to be honest – but now, apparently, he’s getting one after all.

“I, uh, I did say…” Kent starts, wrong-footed. He didn’t actually think anyone paid that much attention to anything he said, especially when he’s three sheets to the wind after a loss and unable to shut up about how he thought a cat might help with the emptiness of his apartment thing. He really didn’t think anyone listened. He kind of hoped nobody had.

But apparently someone had, that someone is Swoops, and Swoops has decided to do something about it, and even that little bit of care just kind of makes his throat feel tight. No one ever does things for him, not like this.

Swoops takes it the wrong way, the silence, and his face screws up a bit in concern.  
“Hey, if you don’t want one, that’s cool. I thought you liked surprises.”

“No!” Kent shouts vehemently. Swoops actually looks taken aback. “No, I just. It’s nothing. I want one. Let’s go,” he says, quieter but no less firm, and shoves the door open. Swoops laughs.  
“Awww, captain, are you--”  
“No, shut up.” But Swoops smiles smugly like he knows Kent’s lying. Kent strides up the path to the shelter, knowing anything he says won’t make the slightest bit of difference – Swoops will still be convinced he was starting to cry.

He might be right, but Kent won’t give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t wait for Swoops, who he can hear laughing behind him, and lets the door shut behind him when he enters. He swiftly stops at the threshold, however, upon seeing the frankly bewildering number of people in there.

It almost looks like a human shelter, not one for animals. There are any number of parents here, presumably picking up reserved animals for their children, and there are kids looking wondrously at all sorts of animals housed there. Staff are zipping about trying to cater to everyone, one woman smiling up at him apologetically before dashing off to sort something else out. Kent wouldn’t have thought there would be so many people; in the moment he spends stunned in the doorway, Swoops descends to sling an arm over his shoulders.

“This way,” he instructs, pulling Kent off in one direction, away from the mayhem. Kent wants to ask whether he’s been here before – has images of adopting dogs for nieces and other such things – but he can’t quite bring himself to ask. In all honesty, he’s not sure if he hasn’t dreamt this whole thing, and he’s going to find himself dozing on the sofa in a minute, but it’s pleasant enough at the moment.

Swoops leads him down several corridors, past numerous offices and empty kennels, the several dogs remaining being fawned over by a variety of small children. Kent wonders how big this place is and how many animals they usually have here. It’s clear that they can cater for large numbers, but he wonders how many of these pens were occupied until recently, how many animals have found homes as Christmas presents, and how many will remain at their new addresses. Kent hopes that they’ll all find good homes – he’s always had a soft spot for animals. Animals never spoke back, and never had complicated ulterior motives.

Eventually, they arrive at a corridor of mewling cages – what must be the cat section. There are families here, too, parents quizzing staff about individual cats, children poking fingers through bars despite warnings to the contrary. Swoops pushes him forward.

“Go check ‘em out, then, cap’n.” 

Kent blinks, only now thinking about what he actually wants in a cat. It had always been some far-off goal, something he’d have in the future, that nebulous far-away concept, but now he’s being faced with it, he… doesn’t really know. Does he want a kitten? He’d have to train it, and he’s not convinced he’s got the patience for that, so maybe not – also, there aren’t too many kittens here.

Taking a step forward, he still finds himself in a state of disbelief: is he really going to get a cat? He’s always wanted one, but then his mom was allergic to cats and his billet family refused to get pets, and then he was settling in at Las Vegas and didn’t think he’d be able to have one, and for so many reasons, he’s never actually… and now he’s here, and all because of Swoops.

Huh.

“Can I help you?” A young female voice breaks into his thoughts, and he turns to find a woman about his age, maybe younger, smiling at him warmly. He can’t quite keep her gaze, not with everything else going on in his thoughts, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well, I- I guess I’m here to get a cat.”   
Swoops snorts, and steps a little closer. “You’re here to get a cat, definitely. C’mon, Parse!” Swoops elbows him in the ribs, earning himself a scowl, which he ignores. “He wants one, he just hasn’t manned up and got one yet. So I took the initiative for him.”

The assistant, ‘Tara’, as her badge proclaims, giggles. “Oh I see! It’s a big commitment, but you’ve come to the right place to get one! What kind of temperament do you want? Is it just the two of you in the house?” she asks, innocently enough.  
“We don’t live together,” Kent replies, not catching the underlying sentiment.  
“Oh! Are you planning on moving in? I take it you’re both happy with the idea; if one of you doesn’t like cats, it’s best not to get one…” She trails off as Swoops chuckles good-naturedly.

“Did you hear that? We’re moving in. You should’a told me!” he says, clearly amused rather than offended. She blushes; Kent is puzzled by the hint of a smirk on Swoops’ face. Is that supposed to be-- what _is_ that supposed to be?

As the assistant hurriedly apologises for making assumptions, Kent decides he’ll ignore it. He’s not out to the team, doesn’t really quite know what he is himself yet, so he doesn’t think Swoops would know to take the piss out of him, but it didn’t seem like that either. Nonetheless, he is here to get a cat, puzzling signals from Swoops be damned.

“Which cats have been here the longest?” he asks once there’s a break in the apologies. Tara gratefully takes the opportunity to move past her mistake, and leads him to a few cages in the corner.

“This is Molly! She came in a few months ago, and she’s really warmed up to people! She was quite hostile, so we can’t really let any families adopt her, since she might react badly to kids, but she’s really gotten a lot friendlier! I think a nice quiet home would really suit her, especially if you’ve got time to let her get used to you,” she explains, grabbing a ring of keys from her belt and, upon finding the right one, opening the cage. “C’mere, you…” she murmurs, the cat itself looking rather hesitant.

As Tara picks her up, Kent takes the opportunity to observe the cat; she’s fairly small, but clearly an adult cat, a very randomly patterned calico, as though she had rolled in paint. One of her ears is missing the tip, and one eye is a little misty. The other eye flickers between Kent, Swoops, and Tara’s approaching hands, but although reticent, she doesn’t outright refuse to be picked up. Her tail, flicking with increasing frequency, has a small kink near the end of it.

“She’s mostly blind in one eye, and we’d suggest she should be kept indoors ‘cause of that, but I think she can be really sweet!” Tara emerges from the cage with one cat in her arms, nose twitching furiously, and her eyes darting about to keep a check on everything.

Kent loves her.

He’s not quite sure how he knows, but he knows it in the way that he knew Jack was something more to him almost immediately. Like how he’d just fit with the Aces, like how he’d just not fit with his apartment and various girlfriends since then. He just knows. Molly the cat looks up at him and he immediately wants to devote as much time as necessary to helping her.

He raises his hand to hover in front of her so she can sniff it; she does so, the faint wisps of her breath tickling his fingers ever so slightly. She does this for a while, while Tara and Swoops watch: Kent has forgotten them, and is not sure if he ever wanted anything quite so much in this moment as he wants Molly to accept his help.

She blinks slowly at him, seeming to accept him. She doesn’t let him actually stroke her, but that’s alright. It’s a small victory, and he knows that she is the cat he will adopt.

“I’ll take her,” Kent states. Tara looks overjoyed; Swoops raises his eyebrows in disbelief.  
“That fast? Don’t you want to look at the others?” he asks, peering at Molly, and getting an accusing look in return. Her paw twitches as though she was about to swat at him. Kent shakes his head.  
“I want to give her a home.”  
“Shouldn’t you at least look at some of the others?” Swoops says, which he guesses is a fair enough argument, but he knows that if he’s going home with any cat, it’s going to be Molly.

“I’ll look, but I’m adopting her.” He remarks. Swoops shrugs, a whole-body movement, and shares a glance with Tara as though saying ‘what can you do’.

Kent looks at the other cats, all more ‘adoptable’ than Molly, and chooses her anyway.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day getting various cat-related paraphernalia, and return to the shelter a few times in the following days so Molly can get to know Kent a bit better. She won’t let him touch her, but she is definitely less reticent, and allows him near her, which considering the state she’s in is quite the achievement.

Finally, they return to the shelter with a cat carrier. They leave with a lot of instructions, numbers for local vets, and an unhappy cat, meowing loudly at being forced into a small space. She continues the whole time as Swoops drives them back, and Kent murmurs reassurances to her, trying to make sure she isn’t jostled too much.

She doesn’t stop until they’ve hurriedly cat-proofed the apartment, shut the doors and windows, and let her out.

Of course, she doesn’t immediately rush out. Kent had placed the carrier in one corner of the room, earlier, and now opens the door, leaving her to it. An hour or so later, he lays on the floor so he can see her, and stretches out his hand, wiggling his fingers at her.

“Here, Molly. It’s okay. You’ve got this whole apartment to lounge in, alright? The cat tree is coming in a few days’ time, then you can ignore it and play in the box,” he murmurs, attempting to put her at ease. She merely eyes him nervously.

“Food might get her out,” Swoops suggests from the kitchenette, where he’s making them both coffee. “Blink a lot so she doesn’t think you’re being aggressive.” That’s advice from the shelter, so Kent makes sure to blink slowly several times. Molly does not move.

Kent smiles to himself and heaves himself back up to a standing position. “Quiet Christmas for me, then. Like it was gonna be loud here,” he muses, accepting his coffee and sitting on the sofa, sprawled across one half of the corner sectional. Swoops takes the other side, glancing periodically at the cat carrier.

“No one coming over tomorrow?” Swoops questions.  
“Nah.” Kent says. His hands tighten around the mug, because he knows he can’t ask Swoops to stay.

“Huh,” Swoops says, and then, “I thought your mom came over.”  
“Nah, she goes out to help people and stuff. She’ll be over before New Year, though.”

Swoops is quiet for a moment.  
“I was gonna go on a run tomorrow, ain’t got nothing else to do. Then I’m gonna come here and eat your food.”  
“Hey!” Kent objects, but he can tell it sounds half-hearted. “You’re just gonna steal my food?”  
“Gotta eat with someone on Christmas, might as well be you, I guess. If I have to.” Swoops, despite his words, is grinning.  
“Nobody is forcing you!” But he can’t help but laugh. “Guess you might as well, huh? See if Molly warms up to you with some chicken.”

Swoops laughs heartily. “Food, the way to anyone’s heart.” 

Kent snorts. “The way to your heart, definitely. And I’m going to beat you on that run, by the way.” 

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try. 10 o’clock, by the post office. You’re on.”  
“Okay. Loser buys wine.”

He knows he’s not going to win – Swoops can outrun everyone on the team, but he doesn’t overly care. Between winning over Molly, and having Swoops over, his Christmas – and in fact, his new year – is starting to look up.


End file.
